


From Russia with Lev

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Intercrural Sex, M/M, Sexual Content, Timeskip, spoilers for ch 402
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:54:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25588630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: “You’re worried that because I was nice to you, I didn’t want to be with you anymore? Why on earth do you think I made a detour here to see you?”“Because you’re ni—” Lev shook his head. “No, you’re not, are you? So, I guess you wanted to spend time with me.”“Laugh at your advert more like,” Yaku muttered. “Now, come here and say hello. I’ve never snogged a top model before.”
Relationships: Haiba Lev/Yaku Morisuke
Comments: 28
Kudos: 316





	From Russia with Lev

**Author's Note:**

> Life has changed since 402 and this pairing snuck straight back into my heart and head, so they're the first ones I've written since Haikyuu ended. ENJOY!

It had to be airline humour that the last film he found himself watching on the flight was an old James Bond movie. Yaku Morisuke had nothing against Bond. He quite liked the way the spy looked in a suit, and could quirk an eyebrow when he made a salient point. And as he fiddled with his own tie (and practised his eyebrow quirking) he wondered if he could order a martini from the air steward. But it was soon time to land, and it looked like cabin service had finished. Having treated himself to extra leg room (he refused to listen to Kuroo’s cackle in his head) he folded up the tray, and stretched out watching as much of the movie as he could before they brought the plane in to land.

“Excuse me, Yaku-san?” A stewardess approached.

“Mmm?” He looked around, wondering if she needed to take the rubbish from lunch, but he’d cleared his tray an hour before.

She held out the in-flight magazine. Inside there was an article about the Olympic volleyball team.

“My brother is … uh,” she said, her tone hushed. “He’s just started playing for one of the Tokyo High School teams. Would you … um … sign it for him?”

“Sure. What’s his name?”

“Nakamura Hiroaki,” she murmured.

He accepted the pen and opened the programme to the page on which he was featured. “And what position does he play? Is he a Libero? Only they’re the coolest.”

“Oh, no. He’s very tall,” she said and smiled. “He’s a wing spiker. Wants to be the Ace.”

 _Don’t they all?_ he thought, trying not to roll his eyes. “Which school is he going to? Nekoma, by any chance?”

Her expression said who, even if she never uttered the word. “No, Itachiyama. Have you heard of them?”

“Uh, yeah. You could say that.”

She frowned a little. “Nekoma? I have heard of them.”

“We’ve made it to nationals. One of the top Tokyo teams, and several of our players play prof—”

“OH!” Her face lit up. “That’s where Levochka went, isn’t it? The model? He’s so handsome. Did you ever meet him?”

(“No more, Yaku-san. Pleeeease, I can’t again,” mewled the boy in his mind, collapsing in a heap on the gym floor.)

Yaku’s lips twitched. “Nope. Never heard of him.”

He missed the end of the film, but landed on time, clearing security with ease. Heading out into the April weather, he put on his coat, as much for the wind whistling through the streets of Shibuya as for the fact he liked the feel and look of it. In his three piece suit, black shirt, tie and vicuna-lined full length coat he felt … _impressive_. Like a rockstar. The local boy made good. And even here, where the fashionable lived their exclusive lives, he could see eyes glancing at him, and instead of dismissing following as he carried on, pulling his wheeled case after him. He stopped only when his phone rang.

“Yaku-san, did you make it okay?”

“You bet,” he replied. “I’m in Shibuya now.”

“So … where … is …” he muttered, pulling his glasses off his face. And then he saw it. On the _109_ , as the digital signage merged from one ad to another, he saw the faces of two people so serious, he’d have thought they’d been attending a funeral … or had lost a game. And he couldn’t help it, because maybe he should have been gushingly complimentary but Yaku’s gut rose up and spilled a belly laugh through the streets and down the end of his phone, causing his glasses to fall to the ground.

Too blunt? It was his big break after all.

(“Yaku-san you’re so meeeean to me.”

“Get up, you lazy bastard! Twenty more receives!”)

He’d almost got the laughter to stop, and was about to gulp out something good, but the voice on the other end didn’t whine in the slightest, giving a light irrepressible giggle of his own.

“See! Isn’t it the funniest thing ever?” Lev laughed. “But don’t tell Neesan that. She thinks we both look uber-cool.”

“You do,” Yaku managed to splutter. He wiped a tear from his eye. “Really you do, Lev. It was just the shock. And because … well …”

 _The last time I saw you, you were wearing a bedsheet_. 

He wanted to say.

“Where are you?” he said instead.

“Right behind you.”

He swivelled on his expensive heel, and there indeed was Haiba Lev. He didn’t look as soignée as he did in the ad. In fact with his hair sticking up as if he’d rubbed his scalp with a balloon, long grey t-shirt, hoodie, scruffy jeans and trainers which looked like they hailed from his Nekoma days, Model!Lev would have walked past him with no clue who he was.

“Wow, Yaku-san,” Lev breathed. “You look so cool.”

“You look … uh …” He stared at the jeans, one hole in the knee, and now he looked closer there was a kind of studied scruffiness about them, a strategic tear or three, the sort of threadbareness that could only happen by expensive design. Jeans which housed long, long legs.

“Good,” he managed. “You look good.”

“Really cool,” Lev repeated. “Um … do you want coffee somewhere, or … um …”

“Chance to catch up, maybe,” Yaku murmured, offering an eyebrow quirk that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a certain spy.

“Give me your case, then,” Lev said, putting his hand over the handle and in the process touching Yaku’s fingers. “It’s not a long walk, but we could get a taxi if you’d rather.”

“I’ve been sitting for ten hours, I could do with the exercise. Where are we going?”

“My apartment. I mean it’s Alisa’s, really. But I pay her rent.” He cocked his head. “Does that count? It sounds so grown up!”

“You’re renting. Of course it counts.”

Small talk. That was all. Remarking on how busy it was, despite the greyness of the day. Lev pointing out a sports shop which he thought Yaku might like, and then a shop that sold ‘amazing shirts and ties’. Unimportant things, but it gave Yaku a chance to catch his breath and also, it appeared, for Lev to stop acting so flustered as his fingers gripped the case, and his other hand gently touched Yaku’s shoulder to steer him towards a swanky looking apartment block.

After Lev greeted the receptionist with a bow and a cheery introduction, “This is my old school senpai, Yaku-san. Yes, yes the one that plays volleyball in Russia and is on the Olympic team.”, they closeted themselves in the elevator.

Lev let out a whistle between his teeth. “It is so good to see you again, Yaku-san.” And he held out his hand, touching his shoulder. “I should have dressed up in a suit too, but I thought you’d be wearing a jeans and a fleece. Maybe I will for the reunion, eh?”

Almost (almost, but not quite) involuntarily, Yaku turned and pouted his lips onto his fingers. “You look good, you know,” he murmured. And you can call me Morisuke, yeah.”

“Mmm, mmm, I know,” he replied, birdlike. “But, I need to get used to it again. It’s been a while …”

“Year and a half, yes.”

The door of the elevator slid open, letting another couple in, the woman staring at Lev with admiration, while the guy tried to pull himself up to what was clearly an exaggeration of his height. Swallowing back a laugh, Yaku asked them which floor they wanted, while Lev smiled, oblivious to the wisp of tension between the newcomers.

When the elevator stopped and the doors swished open, it was Lev who started forwards and at that point, Yaku was in receipt of his rear view, the first time he’d been behind him. He followed, and his eyes drifted from the current set of Lev’s shoulders (was he that broad eighteen months ago?) and mazed a path down until his attention was caught by a frayed rip in the jeans, and the glimmer of his thigh underneath.

Yaku swallowed, his hand went automatically to his tie as he attempted to loosen it and dismiss the sudden warmth flushing his face.

_But fuck, those legs. What else am I supposed to think about?_

“It’s this one,” Lev chirped and stopped outside a plain white door. “Neesan says sorry, by the way.”

“Um, why?”

“It’s her latest commercial. It’s for shampoo.”

“And your apartment’s full of shampoo bottles?” Yaku queried.

“Haaaa – no.” He turned his head to Yaku as he found his cardkey. “She’s not here to say hi, that’s all. Ta-Da!” he said, and pushed open the door. “See, it’s kinda cool right although …” Hs face creased, almost petulantly. “She must have left in a rush … again. Neesan is SO untidy!”

There were clothes on a sofa, not neatly folded, but scattered as if pulled out of a case.

“And you’re not?” Yaku laughed remembering the state of the locker room and the way Lev’s kit seemed to multiply to suit the available space.

“I had a senpai who kicked my ass a few times,” Lev replied. “Now I hang things up. She must have been in a hurry. Anyway, sit down and I’ll tidy a little and make you coffee … or tea … or … um … I have alcohol.”

But as Yaku was deciding, Lev bent down to pick up a fluffy pink sweater causing the jeans to gape again. His mouth dried.

“Lev,” he husked.

“Mmm?”

“How about you come here first and we say a proper hello?”

Freezing mid-tidy, Lev slowly turned his head. He wasn’t smiling, looking more like a startled rabbit caught in the headlights.

“Uh… only if you want to,” Yaku muttered.

“I do … yes,” Lev replied, voice soft and shaky. “I just … um … I…” He swallowed. “After Russia, I wasn’t sure…”

“Huh? After Russia, I was even more sure,” Yaku said, and held out his hand. “Come here. Let’s talk.”

Lev flopped onto the sofa, sitting sideways, but instead of looking at Yaku directly he stared at his hands. So Yaku took hold of them. “Why weren’t you sure after Russia?” he asked. “Did you not enjoy us being together?”

“Yes… but I didn’t know if after that first night you felt … um … like you had to be nice, and that you regretted it.”

There’d been to a bar, Lev eager to try the different vodkas on show as ‘part of my heritage’. Yaku had indulged him, laughing a little but acutely aware that despite his height, his alcohol tolerance was low.

And that he’d become overly affectionate. Like a purring tiger cub, he’d curled up on Yaku’s sofa saying over and over how good it was to see his senpai again, then promptly fallen asleep half trapping Yaku with his arm. Maybe he should have moved then, but Lev had been warm like a hot water bottle and the Ekatarinberg Octobers were cold, so he’d stayed where he was flicking on the television, and occasionally resting his free hand in Lev’s silky hair.

Waking in the early hours of the morning, Lev had been hugely embarrassed, squeaking apologies, until Yaku, half amused half curious had brushed his mouth against Lev’s temple.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he’d whispered in his ear, and then hearing a low groan from Lev, he’d begun to kiss him.

“I didn’t regret anything,” Yaku muttered. He chewed his lip then tilting Lev’s face upwards, he tried to divine what insecurities lay in the slanting green eyes. “Did you regret it? Do you now?”

“No, no,” Lev replied, a little breathy. “But you were so nice to me on that trip and after, so …um…”

“You keep mentioning me being nice! What’s wrong with me being nice?”

Lev stared at him. “Because you’re not nice, Yaku-san. You yelled at me all the way through high school and at your graduation when I wanted to say goodbye and then suddenly after we …um … well, after Russia, you were so _kind_.”

“I yelled at everyone! I still do!” Yaku protested, then catching Lev grinning, he burst into laughter. “You’re worried that because I was _nice_ to you, I didn’t want to be with you anymore? Why on earth do you think I made a detour here to see you?”

“Because you’re ni—” Lev shook his head. “No, you’re not, are you? So, I guess you wanted to spend time with me.”

“Laugh at your advert more like,” Yaku muttered. “Now, come here and say hello. I’ve never snogged a top model before.”

“We snogged in Russia,” Lev replied, snuggling closer. “And more.”

“You weren’t a superstar then.” Yaku pouted his lips onto Lev’s cheek and twined his hands around his neck to pull him into place. “You had a sock commercial under your belt and that was all.” He shuddered. “Of all the feet in the world, they chose yours!”

“You’re mean,” Lev whispered, then yelped when Yaku nipped his earlobe.

“But you like it, yes? Because that’s the reason I do it.”

“So when you yelled in High School, was that because you adored me?” Lev murmured, capriciously fluttering his eyelashes.

“No, it was because you were shit at receives,” Yaku retorted. His tongue slid up Lev’s neck. “Why are we talking about this, when there are far more interesting things we could be doing?”

Lev responded with enthusiasm, no sign of the earlier reserve as his hands tugged on Yaku’s shirt, finally planting his mouth on Yaku’s stomach and letting out a happy sigh. And Yaku felt the nuzzling teeth, the warmth of Lev’s lips as he explored and his own insides liquefied with desire.

“Agh.”

“What’s wrong?” Yaku asked.

“The couch isn’t made for this,” Lev muttered. “I’m too long.”

“Then… might I suggest the bedroom?” Yaku murmured. “I’d princess-carry you there myself, but one you’re a long noodle, and two, I have no idea where it is and would probably end up in the bath…Hey! Put me down.”

“Nope,” Lev replied, gathering him in his arms. “You said princess-style, so come this way.”

“Put me dow—” He stopped complaining as Lev not only carried him, but licked his ear lobe.

Considering this was Haiba Lev, the journey to the bedroom was slick. He fumbled the door handle—his elbow not proving up to the task—so had to adjust his hold on Yaku, nearly knocking his head on the door frame as he hoisted him on one shoulder.

“This is beginning to be a passion killer, you know?” Yaku sighed.

“Humm, I’ll make it up to you.” After a click he kicked open the door, adjusted Yaku in his arms, then strode towards bed and very gently lowered him onto a soft patchwork eiderdown.

He’d expected something functional, a grey bedroom with black and chrome furniture, but this was far more intimate and homely.

“This is surprising,” Yaku murmured, staring at the quilted squares of fabric, a pattern of cats in geometric squares.

“Russian,” Lev replied. “Alisa chose them.”

“Your ‘babushka’ didn’t make them then?”

Lev chuckled. “She made some for us when we were little, but not these.” His hands were still on Yaku’s waist and he crouched over him, nimbly undoing the shirt buttons until Yaku’s stomach and chest were exposed. Then he began to kiss him again, his tongue circling each nipple, then working his way downwards.

“I should take my tie off,” Yaku muttered, barely able to think straight.

“I like it.” Lev slipped his hand inside the waistband of his suit trousers, found the button and zip and slowly tugged off his trousers. “I remember, you see?”

“Huh?” His head was spinning. _Remember what?_

“You liked me undressing you,” Lev whispered, his breath caressing Yaku’s thigh.

“Ahh, that,” He wriggled free, placing his hand on Lev’s chest to nudge him away. “Not as much as I like undressing you. Let me have my fun. Stand up.”

Lev stood by the side of the bed, one side of his mouth began to twitch upwards, almost catlike, but then as Yaku ran his hands up his legs, expertly flicking open the fly buttons of his jeans, he let out a low moan and his pale pink lips gaped open in a perfect ‘o’.

The memory of these legs had kept Yaku warm during the cold Russian winters. When he’d first arrived, alone and knowing barely any Russian, he’d kept loneliness at bay by remembering his days at Nekoma. And of course Lev had featured—both his exasperation with the young Middle Blocker, but also the amusement when this giraffe first started to play, all effortless grace until he had to receive a ball and then the long legs were too long and he’d trip and land in an ungainly splat on the court. He’d always got up though. Even with the rest of the squad ragging him, something about volleyball had excited Lev and he’d carried on, still enthusiastic even if Yaku’s extra sessions had been arduous.

After Lev’s visit, even though he was by then a fully fledged member of the team, with a working command of Russian, he’d come home to his empty apartment and at night drifted off to sleep thinking about Lev curled around him.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he whispered and pulled Lev’s jeans to the floor. He smiled to himself, seeing the mole on his thigh, nuzzling it tenderly, before swirling his tongue in circles until he could hear Lev’s quick gasps. Peeling off his underpants, he paused momentarily, then lifted his face to study Lev. “You want this?” he whispered, holding Lev’s cock in his hand. “Or this?” he asked, and took him in his mouth.

Lev’s keening cry was all the answer he needed, followed by fingers carding his hair, and faint whimpers as Lev begged him not to stop.

In Russia, on their last night together, he’d teased Lev to the point of screaming capitulation several times, finally taking pity and letting him come in his mouth. Now, though, mindful of time and because he could be ‘nice’, he sucked hard, ran his teeth up and down Lev’s cock and traced circles with his tongue on the tip, easing Lev into a sudden, quick, jerking climax.

“Blissssss.” Lev sank onto the bed, then reached across to stroke Yaku’s face. “Thank you, Morisuke.”

“That’s better,” Yaku murmured and nipped his shoulder. “You look very satisfied with yourself.”

“Umm, not yet,” Lev replied. His breathing was returning to normal, and a beatific smile spread across his face as he loosened Yaku’s tie, and peeled off his shirt. His hands splayed across Yaku’s abdomen. “Not when you’re not. What would you like?”

“You,” Yaku petalled a kiss on his mouth, “your legs and some massage oil.”

Lev chuckled, and rolled over to his bedside cabinet, opened the drawer and handed Yaku a small bottle of golden oil. A faint aroma of vanilla and lavender wisped towards his senses and Lev was lying on his back propped against the pillows, waiting. Tipping the bottle up, Yaku trickled some oil over Lev’s thighs, then smoothed it into his skin with his palms. Then Lev took it and shook some drops over Yaku’s cock, rubbing until he was hard. He shifted onto his side, quivered as Yaku ran his fingertips down his spine, circling his ass, before sliding his cock between Lev’s thighs. He thrust slowly, working himself towards a delicious crescendo. Lev reached behind and stroked his thigh, while his thumb kept up a brief caressing contact with the tip of Yaku’s cock. Hooking his leg over Lev’s, Yaku quickened his pace, all too aware that Lev was dripping more oil so it seeped between his thighs, warm and golden. It was when Lev gripped his ass that he gave three sudden thrusts and came.

“Your legs’ll be the death of me, Lev-kun,” he groaned, ”but, wow, what a way to go.”

“We should shower so we get to your party in time,” Lev murmured, turning over and draping his arm across Yaku’s waist. “But I’m sleepy.”

“Get in that shower!” Yaku ordered, sinking his teeth into Lev’s shoulder.

“Ow, so mean!” Lev protested. “My senpai is back in Japan.”

They arrived at Kenma’s a little late, but still before Kuroo. Yaku, hailed as a conquering hero, handed over the cheesiest gifts he’d been able to think of to each of the guys, enjoying himself as Kenma held back an objection when Yamamoto arranged the ornaments on top of his classic space invaders machine.

“Babushka dolls,” Yaku explained. “In cat form.”

“Gives it a certain aesthetic,” Yamamoto enthused.

“You don’t even know what the word means,” Kenma hissed, but he smiled picking up the biggest one, a black specimen with a cat-that-got-the-cream sly smile. “This is definitely Kuro –capitalist fatcat! But then, in that suit, Yaku, you run him a close second.”

“You’re not doing so bad yourself,” Yaku laughed. “Look at this place!”

“He’ll tell you he’s an ‘independent’,” Fukunaga sniped. “How was your flight, Yaku-san?”

“Long.”

“I’ve never flown anywhere,” Inuoka sighed. “What am I missing?”

“Not much,” Yaku replied, and cast a glance at Lev, who was sitting on the floor with Shibayama, swapping memories and anecdotes as they unwrapped their babushka cats. “Helps having something or someone at the destination. But ten hours …” He gave an exaggerated yawn. “Food is nowhere near as good as this paella, and by the time you land, you’re on your fourth choice of film.”

“Depends on the movie,” Yamamoto said. “I could binge watch all the Marvel ones, no problem.”

“The airline was trying to be ironic,” Yaku said. “So there was a series of James Bond films. An extra babushka cat to the person who can name the title of the one I watched.”

“I’m calling the little one Yaku,” Lev was saying to Shibayama, picking up the tiniest of the cat dolls. “I can carry it around in my pocket.”

“Do you want me to kick your ass?” Yaku growled.

“You will anyway,” Lev replied happily, and bestowed a tiny kiss on the tiny cat. “What was the film?”

“Isn’t it obvious? It must have been _From Russia with Love_ ,” Fukunaga put in, his eyes switching from Lev and straight to Yaku’s face, fixing him with that all- too-knowing look he used to assume before dousing Kenma and Yamamoto with a bucket of water. “Or should that be _From Russia with Lev_?”

“I could kick your ass too, Fukunaga,” Yaku snarled, but he helped himself to more paella, enjoying a particularly succulent king prawn. “Maybe give up the day job and become a full-time chef.”

Kai laughed. “It’s good to have you back, Yaku-paisan.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'd apologise for the punny title but instead I'm going to blame comedian/part time chef Fukunaga.


End file.
